Fellblood Son
by lambentLodestar
Summary: (HIGHLY spoilerific, read at your own risk!) In the future of despair, Morgan and his twin sister of the same name are disciples of Grima, whose avatar is their mother. However, Morgan feels a sense of emptiness to his mother's campaign of evil, and a disturbing revelation offers a hope of purpose to his life. Contains: a hint of AU, F!MU/Chrom (for background), may contain nuts.
1. Prologue

**Author's notes: Oh boy, first fanfic posted here. I don't really know the community, I just kind of stalk the entries, and when I came up with this jewel, I figured I had to post it. This sucker's going to be chaptered, and it's rated T because blood. It was apparently a surprise to my test reader.**

**Oh, I should say now: This thing has the highest spoiler density I've ever seen. Read at your own risk, as I said in the summary.**

**This was inspired by the future of despair DLC chapters, which I have only heard about, not played. If parts of this are wrong, welp, sucks for me. Anyways, for this fic to work right, I needed two Morgans, so guess what? M!Morgan an F!Morgan are twins here. M!Morgan will be referred to as Mark whenever both Morgans are involved with anything.**

**Please review! Thank you.**

For being a ragtag band of rebels, Morgan had to say the princess's group fought well. They threw up an impressive defense and deadly offense. Even when all their hopes were dashed, there was always this core group which remained standing, with, of course, the princess Lucina herself at the van.

Morgan had to give her points for bravery, at least. Intelligence, not so much. But there was some reason she simply couldn't die– was she resilient or just lucky? Either way, she made a lovely opponent. Morgan had to admit that doing battle with her forces was a pleasure. She probably thought otherwise, being on the losing side. But Morgan would sooner destroy a stain-glass window than kill the princess. Sadly, he'd destroyed plenty in his mother's campaign.

But who was he to question the fell dragon? He was the son, the general beneath the empress. One of the two. A truth which had palpably come to light lately was the difference between Morgan and his twin sister of the same name. (He wasn't sure of the sanity of the chucklehead who named them, but he was sure to make some good devilry of it, so to speak.) Morgan- the sister- seemed to want to utterly crush these rebels, to wipe them from existance. Mark– as the male twin was secretly called– was really rather fond of them; they were a fit distraction from Mother's campaign of destruction. If forced to honesty, Mark would say he'd let the princess off easy, on numerous occasions. Would that his twin knew of the same mercy...

Oh, who was this? Two swordsmen– no no, one was a woman and indubitably Princess Lucina herself– came charging down the hallway at him. With calm and surety, Morgan drew his sword and prepared to show these two knuckleheads exactly how unwise it was to strike at a wielder of the technique Ignis... He motioned for the mercenary beside him– an acting lieutenant– to engage with the man while Morgan himself faced the princess. Grimly he examined the blade in her hand– Falchion, the fang of Naga.

"I thought I had you with that pincer movement yesterday, and somehow you managed to escape to this castle. Clever," he remarked to the princess.

She bared a snarl at him. "I'll grant you that there being TWO General Morgans was a clever feint. But now I know better than to underestimate you two! Hyaah!" Belting out a savage war cry, she rushed him. Morgan sidestepped and quickly struck back, afforded two quick stabs by the quality of his custom forged sword. She blocked with the sheath of Falchion– clever, incorporating it into her defense.

"I take it that blade is the Falchion? It's a beautiful sword, I'll grant you. But understand, its blessing is meant for use against Grima, not other fellbloods."

Lucina responded with a flurry of stabs, all of which Morgan blocked lazily. The bravest of swords, quickest of weapons, was a veritable asset, to be sure. "I'll still defeat you!" cried the princess, not quite realizing the margin by which she was losing. Morgan supposed he would just have to show her.

With a flourish of speed he had not yet employed, Morgan dove in, drove the point of his sword through the Falchion's ringlike crossguard, and twisted it free of Princess Lucina's hand. The blade flew in the air, and with well-inherited coordination, Morgan caught it in his free hand. The princess took a step back and drew a simple rapier. Morgan examined his loot.

"Beautiful. Truly stunning. A genuine shame I can't wield it properly. But then," he added, "even blunt steel can kill." Yes, he was toying with her. Despite his threat, Morgan still didn't want to kill her. He was fond of this enemy.

Now, he would brutally crush her. Alas.

"Lucina!" cried the swordsman with her, having slain Morgan's lieutenant (see? This is why he had been merely filling in; they all kept dying), and seeing that the princess really was out of her league. He rushed in with a deadly weapon which Morgan recognized as a killing edge, intent on saving the princess.

_Romantic,_ Morgan thought as he waited to counter. With one well-placed blow of his brave sword's flat, Morgan sent him flying towards the far wall. He turned to the princess, who readied her rapier. Switching to the Falchion to use as a blunt weapon, Morgan let steel meet steel. Even with Morgan using the princess's own weapon, Lucina was still outclassed. Morgan swung, dealing a harsh blow to the princess's leg.

Blood spurted and flew everywhere, and it wasn't Morgan's. Belatedly, Lucina's cry of agony crashed against Morgan's ears as he stood back and beheld blood on the Falchion, and a lamed princess clutching at a nasty gash on her leg. If she hadn't leapt back at the last second, Morgan would have cut it clean off. It dawned on him exactly what happened.

Disgusted, he cast the sword away from himself and looked at his bloodstained hand. It couldn't be... How could it be possible? Only those of Naga's bloodline could wield Falchion, and even then only a select few among them could.

Filled with revulsion, Morgan shouted with all projection force possible, "Fall back! Retreat and regroup!"

He needed to speak with his twin, regardless of what punishment he would face for throwing the battle.


	2. Chapter One

**Author's notes: Aaaaaand here's that hint of AU I mentioned. You'll find out as you read, just... don't table-flip on me when you read it.**

**Enjoy that point of view change, by the way! I'll get back to Morgan in Chapter Two.**

Ylisse's resistance could never afford to stay in one place. It was simply too dangerous for the enemy to know their stomping grounds. They did, however, try to stay near the castle of Ylisstol (now ruined), for sentimental reasons. There wasn't much of value left in Ylisstol; Lucina had looted some of the greatest treasures from it herself, to prevent them from falling into enemy hands.

But there was one thing she refused to move away from home.

She kept him hidden, and while she hadn't made that call herself, she certainly didn't argue with the man who had. It was imperative that the enemy not know he was still alive. The man was crippled; while he had certainly been able enough to teach her to fight, he could not stand on the battlefield himself and live, for one of his legs was lame, and no healer could amend this damage. It pained Lucina, for him to exist in such a state. But then, it pained her to see this sunless world every day.

"Give me the splendid silent sun," she sang softly as she approached the supply tent. He didn't always stay in here, but when he moved, he was sure to let her know. "With all his beams full dazzling..."

She found him– a cloaked man, sitting hebind a stack of crates with a half-eaten loaf of bread in his hand. A rare luxury these days, bread.

"Father," she whispered.

"Lucina." He shifted his body towards her. The cloak and dim lighting made him hard to see clearly, but she always knew it was him. No one else had to stay hidden like this. "Is something wrong? You're shaking. I overheard that you and Inigo drove General Morgan back, well done. But what's this I heard about being wounded in the process? I assume you've had Brady look at it?" He moved to stand, but fell back to the ground with a grunt of pain, restrained with great difficulty.

"I... I'm fine. You heard right. I was wounded, but I'm healed now. And I wouldn't say we drove General Morgan back..." She slowed down, burdened by the gravity of this news. "Father, he threw a match with me. He had me outmatched, then turned and fled."

Though she couldn't see his face, Lucina knew her father was puzzled. "Hm."

She knelt down by him and pulled his hood down, to better see his face. Yes, befuddlement was his immediate expression, but beneath that, Chrom always had this hardened look, and Lucina believed she knew exactly why. "Father, he took Falchion from me and used it on me. That's how I was wounded."

"He cut you with Falchion?" His eyes became startlingly wide in his shock. "Lucina, I want you to describe General Morgan to me as best you can."

She closed her eyes and relived her match with him. "He seemed... polite, when he wasn't being smug. He's young, younger than me. He has blue hair, brown eyes, pale skin, and a rounded face. He wielded swords, but he carried a tome with him, elwind. I'd also say he and his sister are both tactical geniuses." There was only so much she could glean about the man– boy?– from her brief encounters with him.

"... Sounds about right," Chrom sighed to himself. Then he asked: "Is he the famous son of Grima?"

"Yes. He and his twin sister, who shares his name."

"That sounds like her, all right." Her father looked her dead in the eyes. "Lucina, I'm afraid I have to tell you something you never should have had to know. General Morgan is your brother."

Lucina returned her father's gaze. "H-half-brother? she whispered desperately. That would be so much better than the only other explanation, because she couldn't be–

"Full brother. Morgan is my son, and..." He hesitated; this was an obvious blow to his daughter, "your mother is Grima's avatar."

"No..." If anything, this whisper was a plea. A plea for life to take back this statement, for fate could only be so cruel, yes? Why would fate allow such evil, tainted blood into Naga's descendants? How could Grima gain such influence over her enemy?

Now Lucina truly saw the odds stacked so firmly against her.

"No!" Unbidden, tears welled up and cascaded down her face. "Please," she hiccupped, trying to keep her voice down, "Father... say it isn't so... I c-can't be... a F-Fellblood..." She shut her eyes and stopped breathing in an effort to contain herself.

"I'm sorry, Lucina. She was– your mother was– a kind and strong woman once, but Grima's heart was stronger. A human soul only weighs so much before that of Grima. She must have been pregnant when she fell to Grima..." Lucina felt her father's arm wrap around her shoulders. "I'm sorry."

She sniffled. "H-how did you... How c-could you... marry Grima's avatar? Of all the women in the world," Lucina glared into her father's eyes, "why her?!"

"I didn't know she was Grima until the day she crippled me, Lucina. Up until then, she was just a woman. A skilled tactician. She was charming. Attractive. She stood by my side and supported me when I couldn't support myself. I loved her, Lucina." To Lucina's amazement, her father's eyes glossed with unshed tears. "And I hate Grima for stealing my wife from me. She's dead, Lucina, dead to me. If I could fight, Lucina, I would strike down her body myself so Grima couldn't defile it any further. But I can't, since Grima did this to me."

"You still love her."

"I still grieve for her, Lucina. All I'm concerned with is avenging my wife and keeping you safe. I should have died when Grima impaled me. There is nothing left for me." He paused and added, "There is nothing left for us, Lucina."

Quietly, Lucina wept and embraced her father again.

"There's one thing you can still do. Go to Mount Prism. Take this." He pressed something to her chest. Lucina looked down at it, and did not dare believe her eyes.

"The Fire Emblem? But wasn't it lost on that day...?"

"On the day Grima returned, I woke from unconsciousness to find myself bleeding out in a collapsing Dragon's Table, but with an elixir in my pockets. I did what anyone sensible would have done: I drank the elixir and got the hell out of there... But before I left, I took the same Fire Emblem used to revive Grima. The Dragon's Table collapsed behind me. So I let everyone think me dead, and the Emblem lost. All so one day, a hope could exist..." He sighed, paused, and added, "my wife would have been proud of that." Lucina nodded in agreement. Her father's hand moved to her face; a stroke of affection.

"Your mother would be proud of you, Lucina."

A painful lump rose in her throat as Lucina held the Fire Emblem to her chest and nodded. Her voice hoarse, she spoke once more to affirm her new mission. "Go to Mount Prism. And then...?"

"Perform the Awakening. Get Naga on our side. You're the only one here who can do it."

She stood up and concealed the Fire Emblem in her cape. Hope kindled in her chest, a welcome feeling. With the Fire Emblem, there was a chance. One chance to win the war. She moved to step outside, but remembered something.

"What of the Generals Morgan?" She asked, hesitant.

"I don't know what can be done about them. Perhaps they will change; they probably know of their heritage by now. But it seems a good idea to me to cross that bridge when you arrive at it."

Lucina nodded her head. "Thank you, Father." She left the tent.


	3. Chapter Two

**Author's notes: This one might require a bit of subtlety. The original certainly demanded it. Thank gods for editing. Also, it's short, to my dismay. All the chapters of this are short. They should be longer, but I have a concise writing style.**

**Not really much to say, other than the bad guys aren't necessarily bad.**

Mark was going to get it. His sister was going to give him the nastiest tongue-lashing he'd had in quite a while, he was sure. But he'd had to do what he'd done yesterday, it was imperative he speak with her before taking even one more step in this gods-damned war.

If only everyone could just get along.

He summoned an image of Princess Lucina in his head. Blue eyes and hair. Pale skin. Rounded face. Not bad with tactics. Wielder of the Falchion. There was an undeniable resemblance. Morgan reached into his pocket and examined a trinket, an old ring he had pilfered from Mother as a child. Looking at it, he now understood why she didn't miss it. The crest of the royal family of Ylisse was apparent on it, and if Morgan was right– which he usually was– he understood it to be a wedding ring.

Something about it filled him with sorrow. This ring told the story of his parents– his father had to have been Chrom, the former exalt of Ylisse. And Mother... Morgan didn't know what to think of her. Had she tricked him, so her children could wield Naga's own fang against his kin? Or perhaps Mother had been another person entirely prior to Grima's revival? He liked the latter idea better, for some reason.

"Mark."

He hastily stowed the ring and turned to face his twin. "Morgan." He braced himself, drawing up his usual composure.

"What's this I hear about you ordering a retreat when we were about to win? What were you thinking, brother? We had the princess. You threw her back to her rebel friends." Yep, Mark had known his sister would react like this. Hissing and snarling. Not unlike Lucina, during that brief encounter.

"I will explain, sister, in due time. I have grave news, and you'll want to hear it." He hesitated; she might regret knowing. However, he had to tell her... "But I have a condition." He marveled at his composure in the face of danger– or in this case, angry family members.

"What is it? It's not like you to play parley tricks with me."

Mark wondered if that pun was accidental. He caught of a lot of puns from his sister, especially during inappropriate times. "We mustn't tell Mother. I fear how she would react if she knew we know this."

Morgan snorted. "Mark, we can't keep a secret from Mother. I also can't make decisions knowing you're hiding something from me. You're my twin, for Grima's sake. Just tell me."

Mark softened; his sister had a point. After a brief pause, he nodded with deliberation. "Very well, but steel yourself. It's... Not a pleasant secret." He paused in consideration for Morgan, then continued. "I took the Falchion from Princess Lucina and used it against her."

"Great. Where is it?" Of course. Too subtle.

"Morgan, I cut her with it. Wounded her. Remember that the Falchion is very particular about its wielders?" Comprehension dawned on his sister's face. Splutters dropped from her lips.

"You hurt– but then you're– then she's– We're descendants of Naga?!" Outrage splayed itself across her face. Mark held up the old ring.

"I nicked this from Mother's old possessions when we were little. Recognize the crest? That's a royal Ylissean wedding ring. _Our mother_ had it." Now, put two and two together...

"_OUR MOTHER MARRIED–"_ Mark cut her off by gently covering her mouth with one gloved hand. Not the best of things to shout about. Morgan wrenched away his arm and hissed much more quietly, "our _father _was that scum Ylissean prince?! He was our _enemy?!_" Distress raised the pitch of her voice, and Mark suspected it wasn't entirely at their mother's choice of husband.

"I can see you're upset. Perhaps I ought to let it sink in, but I wanted to..." Mark stopped. No, she wouldn't agree to this proposition in such an agitated state. He shook his head. "Never mind. Forget it."

"What is it?" To Mark's surprise, his sister's voice shook. Perhaps this affected her in other ways? She sniffed once, then straightened out her face. From whom she and Mark had inherited their ability to remain composed, Mark knew not. (It bears mentioning that their mother's ire was a force of nature, in case it was not obvious.)

"Well... I had thought about a secret talk with Lucina. Merely a parley." What a wonderful idea to pitch. Perhaps someone ought to fetch Morgan a bow, for Mark knew she was about to shoot it do–

"Are we on first name terms with that princess suddenly? You've only met her once or twice. On the battlefield, no less. Anyways, why would we risk our lives like that?" She folded her arms and regarded Mark with a careful, studious stare.

He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Like it or not, she's our sister. Family. I thought... I wanted to speak to her as a sister, not the enemy. If only once, before we meet again on the battlefield."

"You sentimental fool." Morgan's voice betrayed her; there was a sob present. "What sort of idiots would we have to be to do this? Mother would never–"

"Mother doesn't need to know. Please, sister. Isn't this how children used to act in the olden days? Running around, sneaking out, keeping secrets?"

"That's called disloyalty, Mark, and I can't imagine what kind of dysfunctional..." Her eyes drifted to the ground. What kind of dysfunctional family? What about theirs? Mark couldn't exactly call it idyllic. After a moment of silence, Morgan sighed. "You have a point. But no one will know of this. No one at all."

Mark nodded, and as he did so, this foreign, warm feeling arose in his chest. "Of course. I wouldn't have it any other way." What was it called? Hope? It was a welcome change from the coldness of his destructive reality. He hugged his sister tightly, and reflected: He was strangely happy that he now knew of his other, older sister.

And yet, they were enemies. Now, how did that happen?


	4. Chapter Three

**Author's notes: YES! Length! Delicious, delicious, length! And it's a good thing I read through this even after typing it up; I caught a number of mistakes. If anyone catches any I missed, please let me know. On that note, enjoy! It was fun to write the three siblings snarking at each other.**

"Milady Lucina! Two strangers are here, asking for you. They wear the garb of the Grimleal, but carry a white flag."

Well, Lucina couldn't say she'd seen _that _coming. Such ill timing; it was her plan to leave for Mount Prism the next morn. Perhaps her plan should be hastened, if two Grimleal were here? She gulped her apprehension back down and turned to the soldier who had come to alert her.

"What is their purpose?" She asked.

"They claim they are here to parley, and will speak to none but the Princess Lucina."

She blinked. A peace talk, from the Grimleal? That was unexpected entirely. Regardless, Lucina had to speak with them. Former exalt Emmeryn, her father would say, would never turn down any such meeting, no matter how foul-smelling. Nonetheless, she picked up Falchion. "I will see them at once. Take me to them."

This was such a dangerous idea.

For one, Mark couldn't even be sure Lucina would agree to see them. He pulled his cowl a little further over his face, determined to ensure only Lucina recognized them. How did he know she wouldn't summon her best soldiers to gang up and slaughter the two Morgans out?

Though he retained a composed face, Mark was very nervous. Enemy or not, this was his sister he would meet with for the first time, off the battlefield.

"I can't do this," Morgan said, moving to walk away. "We'll be killed for sure."

Mark grabbed her arm. "You're staying with me!" He did well to keep his panic out of his voice. "Our survival odds are better together. How would you feel if I got killed here while you survived?"

With a groan of frustration, Morgan returned to her brother's side. "Bloody chicken."

"You're the one who just tried to run off!"

"I feel like we're betraying Mother by doing this. If she catches us, we're _dead._"

"It's not like we're defecting, sis. We're just here to talk. Nothing more. Calm down." The last two words were more meant for himself than Morgan.

A blue-haired swordswoman– yep, that was Lucina– approached, alone. Mark took a deep breath while she was still a good distance away and raised up the pale scrap of cloth serving as their "white flag". It had been hard to come by, as the Grimleal knew nothing of its meaning– "truce". Mark reaffirmed that Lucina was alone. Good. That would make things less nerve-wracking. He pulled his hood down, and Lucina gasped.

"You!" she hissed, reaching for the Falchion. Mark waved the flag again.

"We're not here to fight. My twin and I just want to talk."

"I'm your enemy," the princess whispered venomously. "You are Grimleal. Grima's own children, even! What would you know of parley?"

"A lot more than you, _princess,"_ Morgan snapped. She then yelped; Mark had elbowed her in the side. He also raised a hand to remove her cowl while he was at it.

"If I could ask all present to speak a civil tongue, that would be appreciated. A fight here would be disastrous to all parties involved. We're not..." Mark faltered. "We didn't come to speak as your enemies, but as your siblings."

Lucina cringed. An understandable reaction. Perhaps Mark could have worded that better. "And what do you want to discuss? Are you trying to ask me to join you?"

Morgan nodded before receiving another elbow in the side. "No," Mark answered. "Nor are we here to defect. I just... wanted to talk to you away from the battlefield, is all. I don't want to fight my own sister."

"Since neither of us is willing to switch sides, that seems inevitable. Why did you risk your lives to come here?" Justifiable suspicion, Mark thought. This wasn't going how he had hoped, but what did he expect?

"Um..."

"That's exactly what I told him," Morgan snorted. "There's no point in talking with you, we're only going to kill you later anyways."

"Sister!" Mark elbowed her a third time. "I don't want to kill her. Er, that is," he turned to Lucina, "I don't want to kill you. I don't care that you're my enemy. You're also my sister. It's just wrong for family to kill each other."

"How is it that you're Grima's own children, born and raised in the Grimleal, and yet you have some semblance of honor? At least," she pointed to Mark, "you do."

"You may call me Mark. It's what my sister does to avoid confusion. We only call each other Morgan to confuse..." He trailed off; he didn't need to remind Lucina that the purpose of it was to confuse her. He cleared his throat. "Ahem! Yes." He received a sharp elbow to the side from his twin.

"Why did you tell her our secret?! She's–"

"What difference does it make, Morgan? She already knows there are two of us. I trust her, anyways." Both women gasped in surprise at the last statement. Mark became acutely aware of their gazes on him, piercing him. Lucina appeared to be reevaluating his character while Morgan– this one Mark was sure of– questioned his sanity.

"Unbelievable, Morgan," his twin admonished, using their name to point out their supposed unity. "Have you lost your wits entirely? What would our mother think? This is our–"

"Enemy, enemy, enemy!" He finished for her. "That's all I ever hear! I'm sick of it! Are things _really _so black and white? Do we really have to fight each other? Why couldn't we just get along like a normal family is supposed to?" Mark dug out the old ring. "What do you think _this_ means?" He waved it in her face.

"May I see that?" Lucina asked. Mark looked at her, wondering at the timid note in her voice, and carefully handed it over, his tirade finished.

His older sister took it with a delicate hand. "Where did you get this?" She asked as she examined it.

"I stole it from our mother when I was young." He scratched the back of his head; it was a little embarrassing, when he worded it that way. "Now I know why she didn't scold me for it, huh? I didn't even realize what it meant until after our fight a few days ago."

"I would have expected Grima to have thrown it away. I have reason to believe our mother was another person entirely prior to the revival of the fell dragon." Mark noted her composure.

"For someone fighting so devoutly in Naga's cause, you sure are calm about being a fellblood suddenly." Ah, finally. Morgan said _something civil_.

"... I've had good company to talk it over with. But I'm told– by one who knew her before Grima's ascension– that she used to be calm and gentle... And that she loved her husband very much." Morgan made a retching noise, presumably at the thought of their parents together.

Mark got the impression that Lucina was hiding something. He decided to press it, but gently. "I wasn't aware that any of her old allies survived. She told me that she personally hunted and killed them all." He paused, trying to think of a lighter note. "But if one survived, we won't mention it."

"'We'?" queried Morgan. "What do you mean, 'we'?"

"Sis, how would we explain how we found that out? _You_ were the one who said no one would know of this meeting."

"So you really are here alone," Lucina breathed in relief. "So if I tell you who it is, you won't tell her?"

Mark could practically hear his twin gnashing her teeth as she growled, "given our situation, we haven't much choice. If our mother knew of this parley, she might well have our heads for it."

Lucina appeared hopeful. She opened her mouth to speak– perhaps to say who– but she closed it again. Mark could _just _hear her whisper, "I can't tell anyone... He's supposed to be dead..."

He nodded his head. "If you don't want to say, I won't force it. ... Sister," he added. Morgan looked scandalized.

An awkward, lengthy pause followed.

"We have to be going soon." Alertness rang in Morgan's voice, and Mark nodded. Better to leave before their mother became suspicious of their absence...

"It was nice to speak with you, Lucina," he said with a weak smile.

His older sister inclined her head. "The same to you... Brother."

He embraced her for a moment, then Morgan decided she'd had enough, and tore him away. "Come on," she growled. Mark saw Lucina curtsy, and begin to walk away. "What in the seven hells were you thinking? She's going to die like the rest of them. Why bother getting close?" She sounded worried, but what she said gave Mark an idea.

"WAIT!" He cried out, to both his sisters. Lucina turned, and Morgan reluctantly let go of him. The three converged once more.

"Once this is over," Mark began carefully, "once one side or the other wins... Whichever of us loses will be spared from death. So, if you win, Lucina, you will not kill me or my sister. And if we win, we will not kill you. Is everyone all right with that?"

"It's sentimental foolishness, but if it helps you sleep at night, then I accept," Morgan grumbled.

"I will agree to this as well. It will put my mind at ease... For now."

"Very well, then. We have a pact. Farewell, Lucina." Mark smiled. "Big sister."

"Farewell, brother." Lucina waved as Mark turned to leave.

Perhaps, one day...


	5. Chapter Four

**Author's notes: Holy CRAP it is twelve and I am tired. I'd hoped to finish this before it became technically tomorrow... Oh well, I failed. Two chapters for 3/23/13, then. I procrastinated with this, I had a tiring day and my high school had a rally and gods I ****_hate _****rallies and I had dishes to do and Star Trek was on and I was messing around with the Bride class and the Bride class is ridiculous and I ****_love_**** it and this is a heck of a run-on sentence.**

**Someone left a review who was apparently appreciative of all the family fluff in here. I feel so sorry for them, their bubble's about to get burst. ****_Hard._**

**I'd say my writing style for this is pretty good, but there are flaws in it. I don't trust my editing skills at this hour, I keep typoing, so if anyone sees an error, please let me know so I can fix it. That said, enjoy!**

When the Morgans finally returned to their tent, they found an axeman awaiting them. He introduced himself as Mark's new lieutenant (Poor man would be doomed, he thought), then informed the twins of something a little more grave.

"Mistress Grima wishes to speak with the two of you. I am to escort you."

Though Mark was accustomed to being escorted to her, it struck him as a blow of dread that the reason for this was a lack of trust. He did not, however, allow his sense of impending doom change his demeanor; and if his sister felt any similar feelings of foreboding, she concealed them skillfully as well.

As they had an escort, the two of them could ill afford to whisper between each other. They had learned the hard way not to do that after their second mission ever, at which time Mark's lieutenant at the time (now long dead) had informed their mother of it, and she had cross-examined and scolded them for it. Morgan had been the one to coin the name "grilling" for it.

For fear of another similar experience, they dared not ask each other what to tell her or what not to tell her. They knew better than to wonder aloud what their mother wanted to ask them about. Thus, they learned to communicate without speaking, by using innocuous signs.

So by the time their escort brought them to their mother's dwelling quarters– presently a lavish pavilion marred only by a few rusted bloodstains– both Morgans knew to claim their trip outside camp was a mere scouting mission, that mentioning any of the details they discovered was a no-no, and that other than these things the wisest thing to speak was the truth.

Morgan entered the tent first, alone. Mark recognized another sign of distrust; interrogating them separately. It was about ten minutes of tense patience before Morgan exited, gave Mark the signal for "good luck" (A simple pat on the shoulder) and waiting as he entered to speak to their mother.

He briefly found himself wondering if he spoke to Grima, or his mother. Was there a difference?

"Mark." Grima's avatar was a little short of stature, and never lowered her cowl. Underneath it, Mark could discerned nothing about her build or face, especially since she stood with her back turned to him. She was careful not to show emotion or show her face.

Usually.

"Mother." In Mark's experience, she cared not whether he referred to her as Grima, the master of all, or as the woman who brought he and his sister into the world she would create. She and Grima were one and the same... Were they not?

"I have heard very displeasing reports of our most resent assault on those rebellious upstarts. There is not an account which states you did _not_ order a retreat whilst on the verge of victory. Once account even states that you had their princess in your hands, and you let her go. Would you care to justify this tactical blunder?"

Her ire needed no special description. She did not have the same composure present in her children, Morgan thought. "I will explain this, Mother, in full. It is, however, an account of some length and will require some time to tell. Perhaps you might like to hear it in comfort?"

She did not move. "Begin."

Morgan cleared his throat ("Ahem!") and did as his mother... Grima... commanded. "As the battle– if one could even call it that– approached its endgame, two soldiers with swords rushed at me. One was the princess, with the Falchion. She and her friend challenged me, and I showed her just how far out of her league I was. Incidentally, I must thank you for your training, that I could humiliate her so. What I did, exactly, was to take the Falchion from her and try to bludgeon her with it." He paused to collect himself; no need to reveal his nervousness.

"Continue, boy."

"She mostly dodged a would-be crippling blow. But I did cut her with it. Mother, I cut her with the _Falchion!_" He went for a cross between disgust and distress.

"And since you had it in your hands, where is the fang of my nemesis now?"

He sensed disgust and anger from her. _I'm a dead man,_ Morgan thought. In a creative twist, he decided to mirror these emotions. "I didn't want anything to do with the damned thing. I tossed it away. But before I could fix that error, she went and snapped it up like a starving mouse snaps up food. By then, her stupid friend had killed my lieutenant and I knew it was a bad idea to let them gang up on me. So I sounded a retreat, to preserve order within the ranks. But, Mother, I need to know something: Who is my father?"

She turned to face him. He still couldn't see her face for the cowl, but glowing red eyes gleamed at him from under its shadow. Grima's tone was perfectly even as she voiced her ire: "Boy, you dare take that tone with me?"

Morgan had never been so afraid in his life.

"You had the rocks for brains to make such an error? There are times when I wonder whether you are disloyal or merely stupid. Now, tell me, boy, which is it?"

"I had a momentary laspe of judgement. But, Mother, I must know, before I go mad: Who is my father?!"

Grima let out a snarling _scream_ of rage, and Morgan nearly had a heart attack for it. A long, slow, and painful heart attack. Lowering her voice, Grima hissed, "your father was a scumbag who I had the pleasure of skewering like a hog many years ago. Unfortunately, he was a royal Ylissean scumbag. My fool of an avatar was so selfish as to believe this body hers and hers alone. A fitting punishment that her body and memories are all that remain of her. Now, tell me, boy," she took a step towards him, "are you loyal to me? Or does your allegiance belong to that traitor of an older sister you have?"

_Gods, spare my life._ "I would never show her any quarter, Mother. Unless, perhaps, she can be turned to see our way. You are a god, Mother, you have said so yourself. Your blood is in her veins as well as mine. We can win her over to our side. What a crushing blow it would be to her little rebellion!" Oh gods, gods, gods! What was he doing? What was he damning Lucina to?!

"Hm." Grima turned her back to him, seemingly– Morgan was secretly incredulous– pacified. He heard thoughtfulness in her voice, something he never expected to hear. "Perhaps you are not so dull or disloyal as I had suspected, my son."

_She acknowledged me as her son!_ Perhaps he had succeeded in–

"But know this, Mark. You may be blessed with my sacred blood, but you are also cursed with Naga's damned brand. You and your sister both. Should you choose to betray me... If you fail me again... I will carve it from your sister's back even as you would stab me in mine, and I will also take out the mark defiling your eye. I will grant no further chances. Yes, you will live, but only to continue our bloodline. Your sister, however, will suffer her father's fate: Impaled and squealing as she dies, a stuck pig. Do you understand me?"

"As you will, Mother. I understand. I swear to you," he dropped to one knee, "I will not fail again." She did not catch his double meaning.

"Rise up, then, and do your duty." Morgan did as he was bid, and exited the tent. He locked eyes with his twin, and embraced her.

_Please, gods, I can't let Grima do this..._


	6. Chapter Five

**Author's notes: Another chapter posted late at night. Been busy all day; a local high school had a miniature anime convention and I went to it. I spent the next hour when I got back having a power nap. I've also got my parents distracting me with new computer business and I wish they would let me finish my stuff before nagging me. If there's one thing I hate, it's being interrupted while I'm working on something.**

**But hey, it's still 3/23/13 here. Haha. Anyways, this chapter's a little plot-twisty. Not much to say on it. I wanted to emphasize just how close the twins are, though. Enjoy!**

Mark led his sister back to their tent, and left the tent flap open so he might watch for potential eavesdroppers.

"You appear unhurt," Morgan began.

"Appearances can be deceiving. She..." He held up one hand for a pause and laid the other on his chest. It still pounded frantically, and several minutes passed before Mark felt comfortable enough to speak. He used this time to consider how he would say the awful truths which needed saying. "I can honestly say I've never been so scared in my life," he opened. "We can't stay here."

"What?!" She squawked. "Run aw-" Mark covered her mouth for a moment, to stop her from shouting that too loudly.

"Sister, she threatened to kill you if I fail her again. There is no more margin for error, and... If I had to choose between Grima and Lucina, I would choose my sister's side."

"You're betraying our _mother!_" She cried. "She raised us, nurtured us, taught us to fight! Why would we follow a sister who trusts us about as far as she can throw us when we've got our mother?!"

"That is not our mother." Mark closed his eyes, so as to calm himself as he spoke. "Our mother died before we were even born; we never had the chance to meet her. And if you're going to speak of trust, tell me now: Why is it she has us _escorted_ to her? Why is it she speaks to us _separately?_ Why is it that your _life_ is _leverage_ to _control_ me?!"

Morgan sat down in a chair, taking this in. "Gods..." Her voice trembled.

"We were never her children. We were allowed to delude ourselves, to imagine the sacred dragon Grima as our loving mother. She never saw us as anything but unfortunate proof of her avatar's union with Ylissean royalty, even if we do serve her purpose. What happens if we stray from that purpose, fail in it, or outgrow it? What whit would Grima care if two of the last exalt's children died?"

"Stop it!" Morgan jumped to her feet and grabbed the front of Mark's coat. "How can you say that? How can you say that our mother..." She trailed off into tears and sobs. Despite himself, Mark found himself at the brink of tears as well. What he spoke was all the more painful for its evident truth.

He needed a more pleasant note. "Lucina cares about us. She would accept us. At the very least, we would be safer as her prisoners rather than Mother's followers."

"Prisoners!" Morgan hiccupped.

"She would treat us well, I don't doubt."

"What about our pride, Morgan?" Again with their shared name...

"You think we can afford it? Pride is a sin for a reason. In this case, it could very well be our undoing. I..." Mark changed his tactic. "Morgan, if you died, I don't think I could go on living. And that would be my punishment: to spend the rest of my life alone, half of what I am with you. I love you, sister, and I don't want to lose you." One tear trailed down, tickling his face.

"You're saying you would... You would betray Mother to protect me." Morgan's arms fell to her side. Though this sort of bond was understood without being spoken, Mark knew he had touched her by affirming it. "You're a sentimental fool..."

"But at least I'm honest with myself. With every passing day, I see more of where I am and what I am doing, and more vivid grow my daydreams of a life better than this: A life where we needn't fear our own mother, and where we could live happily with our sister..."

"What... How can any life be better than what we have now? We are... the children... of a– hic!– god... She hugged Mark for support as she wept. He patted her back. Perhaps this was a little much for one day, but it needed to be–

Mark heard footsteps.

"Sister, compose yourself," he whispered, and hastily wiped her face with his sleeves. When a thin, lanky-looking spy pushed aside the flat serving as their tent's door, the twin Morgans looked at least presentable.

"Generals Morgan," the spy greeted.

"Report," Mark responded.

"Multiple scouts have sighted the Ylissean princess moving eastward. Our agents within their camp claim their destination is Mount Prism. For what purpose, I know not."

"Thank you. You may go." Mark nodded his head towards the 'door'.

"Brother, now would be an excellent time to join with Lucina," Morgan thought aloud.

Two thoughts crossed Mark's mind as his eyes widened– _No, sister!_ and _I can't let Grima find out!_ In a swift, fluid motion, Mark grasped the hilt of his sword and thrust forward– impaling the spy at the very moment he had stepped outside the tent. He crumpled to the ground as Mark pulled his blade free of his back, and blood spurted and pooled on the ground.

_What a mess!_ He turned to his sister, wiping the blood off his blade with their improvised truce flag. "Why did you say that while her spy was still within earshot?! You know that everyone in this camp is loyal only to Mother."

"I just..." She covered her face, ashamed of her error. "I forgot myself... You actually killed him." Morgan took a deep breath, taking the fact in. "You struck down a fellow Grimleal."

"My first... and he might not be the last." Mark sheathed his sword and picked up the corpse. "Come on. We need to hide this." Oh, this was definitely a lot for his sister to handle. Mark could tell, especially when it threatened to overwhelm _him_, he who kept a better lid on things. "You pack up and get ready to leave while I dispose of this. It'll be a race to catch up to Lucina." He left camp quickly and quietly, ensuring that none laid eyes on him as he did. He stripped the corpse of the mark of the Grimleal cult and dumped it in a river.

When he returned, he found Grima waiting for him outside his tent, Morgan standing by her side with a stoic expression.

Mark's heart skipped a beat or ten. "Mother," he said, betraying only mild surprise. "... An honor to see you here, come to my sister and I." Mark had full confidence that his sister's calmness was merely an act. The fact that she remained on his side was his one comfort. Mark bowed to his mother before he asked, "to what do I owe this honor?"

"You have heard, have you not? Your traitor sister, Lucina, makes for Mount Prism. It is where Naga's temple lies. The one purpose she would have to go there would be to awaken Naga. If we are to turn her, it must be done before Naga wakes. If we are too late, then she will gain Naga's blessing, and I will not have the power to influence her. For a mission of such importance, I wish to participate. How bored I would become if I never stepped onto the battlefield myself."

_If I fail to save my sisters,_ thought Mark, _then I will take up the Falchion myself._ In the mean, he had to keep them safe. But how, when their escort this time was Grima herself?


	7. Chapter Six

**Author's notes: Here we have the longest chapter yet. I procrastinated on it. Also, this was going to be much longer– the next chapter was going to be one and the same with this one– until my handwritten draft exceeded six pages, heh. Almost done.**

**There was _supposed_ to be more Morgan in it, but that got pushed to next chapter. Sorry! Besides, y'all could use more of Lucy here. Enjoy!**

The lack of Grimleal and Risen on the road disturbed Lucina. Never had she walked the land in such peace, ease, and safety, and it allowed her soldiers' wits to dull. They grew complacent, thinking that Grima would not dare stain the holy Mount Prism. Lucina's sense of foreboding told her that Grima had laid some terrible ambush for them... Or perhaps this was the twins' blessing? Lucina knew not. She was absolutely sure to keep her closest friends alert– she wasn't sure how long she could survive past their deaths, should they occur.

Their arrival at Naga's temple was uneventful. This Lucina could not believe, and yet it was so.

"Dear cousin of mine! Perchance some wisdom about our foes' timidness lies squirrelled away within you mind?" Oh, Owain. She turned to face her theatrical cousin, who then broke character. "Really, while I appreciate the break and all, I can't help but feel they're up to something."

"I'm not sure. I thought for sure an ambush waited for us, but as you can see..." She gestured towards the enemy-free view. "They probably stepped in," she murmured.

"Who? Someone who's on our side without telling us?"

"Do you recall when Inigo and I faced General Morgan, and he fled from us?" Now, how was Lucina going to break this news?

"I had heard you two were utterly outclassed by him. Why'd he run?"

Lucina was silent.

"It must have been something serious– as much as I hate to praise our enemy, the man's a genius, he wouldn't have fled without reason. I also know that you went and cried "uncle" after that." He winked without smiling, and Lucina understood his meaning right away.

"It was... Don't tell anyone, but General Morgan is–"

"Lucina!" She twisted round, grateful for the interruption, to see Kjelle approach. How wonderful it was to be saved the pain of admitting that terrible fact. "We're here to do the Awakening, yes? Then let's get on with it."

She nodded her head. "Set up a perimeter around the temple. I still feel uneasy about the lack of resistance on the way here."

"Of course." Kjelle turned and immediately began barking orders.

"We'll talk after we speak with Naga, all right, Lucina?" Owain smiled. "There's no time to waste. The forces of darkness may arrive at any minute!"

Owain's usual joke put a smile on Lucina's face. "I'll see you, then." Grasping the Fire Emblem in one hand, she began to march proudly to the place of Naga's rest.

"Please hurry, Lucina..."

This was a whispered prayer of sorts Mark found himself muttering many times along the way to Mount Prism. Or rather, the lengthy and winding path to it. He'd left navigation to Grima, and purposefully given her a broken compass, a working one concealed in his pocket. Thus, with their navigation being incredibly off, they would be late, and he prayed it would be enough time for Lucina to complete the Awakening while Grima was still fooled by his trick.

After a few days of the broken compass, Mark had discreetly switched it for the good one, having decided this delay was long enough. A week's worth of total travel brought them to Mount Prism, and by some miracle, his mother had not caught on as to why the compass hadn't worked before.

Naga's temple was swarming with Ylissean rebels.

"Well, I suppose I shall simply have to eat them all," Grima stated nonchalantly.

"Is everything ready?" Lucina asked Inigo.

"You know only Laurent knows what we're doing here, Luce," he responded helplessly. "Naga might have explained it all clear and simple, but I doubt anyone other than you and he remembers the details. Give the man another hour or so. Besides, isn't Gerome still making your disguise?" Something about his tone seemed to imply he wanted to talk about it.

"Yes, what about it?"

"What would you say the odds are that it includes a mask?"

Lucina frowned, her eyebrows furrowing. "I specifically asked for one."

"Oh. Well." Inigo seemed disappointed. "Wait, why would you _want_ to hide that pretty f-"

"This conversation is over." She strode away.

In the distance, she heard him say, "Tch, be that way..."

She searched for the quiet wyvern rider and found him sitting in his tent. "Gerome."

"Lucina. Excellent timing. Your mask is finished." He stood and turned to her, offering a delicate-looking butterfly mask. "It's yours."

"It's beautiful..." She tried to flex it with her fingers, and found it was made of sturdier stuff than she had imagined. "And tough. Thank you, Gerome."

"Your new outfit also awaits you in your tent. Incidentally, I thought it might be a good idea to go by a different name in that place."

Wisdom flew from his mouth. "I shall think is over. Again, thank you, Gerome." She smiled slightly at him.

"You are welcome, Lucina."

She left and wandered to her tent, where she found a neatly folded pile of fabric on her bedroll, as promised. She carefully closed the tent flap and changed into her new clothes.

Looking at herself in the cracked mirror (it had broken during a march many months ago), Lucina had to admit it was a nice outfit. The only stipulation was that it wasn't quite as comfortable as she would have liked– it was a little tight in the chest– but it was a refreshing new look, and it brought a smile to her face. She donned the mask and re-examined herself.

If it weren't for her hair, she believed she could have passed for a man.

Inspired, Lucina shed the mask and picked up Falchion. With one hand, she gathered the topmost locks of her hair and with the other, used her father's blade to cut them to a short, masculine length. An appropriate use of the blade, she deemed. The rest of her hair she stuffed into the back of her tunic. She picked up the mask and put it on.

Perfect. She ought to show her father, and perhaps he could help her decide on a name. Something heroic, Lucina knew, with some historical meaning. She left her tent and carefully snuck through camp, trying hard to hide herself, until she found his present hiding place, the rear of the mess tent.

"Father," she called into the otherwise-empty tent.

The usual cloaked figure limped out from behind a stack of crates, using one hand to lean on them. "... Is that you, Lucina?" She could barely make out a squint from under his hood.

She frowned. "Gerome suggested I don a disguise for the journey into the past. But you recognized me right away..."

"Oh, it takes a good disguise to fool your own father, and you damn near did. Your only giveaway was your voice. You look enough like a man to pass for one, but you need to sound like one, too. Lower your voice's pitch and you should be fine."

Lucina cleared her throat and tried again. "How is this?"

He nodded his approval. "Much better... Have you thought of a name to go by while you're in the past?"

"I... No, I haven't. I was going to ask you. I was thinking of some great hero of the past, but there are many to choose from..."

"Why not Marth? After the Hero-King."

Lucina's eyes lit up from behind the mask. "Perfect! That fits perfectly. Thank you, Father." She let her smile fade as she considered something else. "What of you, Father?"

"How do you mean?"

"How will you survive in the past?"

Chrom let out a sigh, and hesitated a long while before answering. "I'm not going back with you, Lucina."

Her jaw fell in horror. "B-but, Father!"

"There's already another me in the past. If he's anything like I once was– which he should– he'll still treat you like his daughter, should you choose to reveal yourself. Two of me in one time is a little strange, anyways. And one more thing..." He paused here, Lucina saw a pained expression on him. "What help is a crippled man? I can hardly walk."

Lucina sniffled. "F-father..."

"Dry your tears, love. This is not goodbye. My past self is still your father."

"B-but... I–"

"Lucina!" Called Kjelle, her voice frantic. "Where are you?! It's time to go! Grima is here!"

Alarm hit her like a ton of bricks. For a moment, she froze, unsure of what to do.

"It's all right. Go. I'll the the Fire Emblem back; it's served its purpose."

Reluctantly, she handed it over, and made for the exit. Just before she stepped out, though, she paused, and choked out two teary words.

"Goodbye... Father..."

In the distance, the fell dragon roared her challenge.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Author's notes: Haha, woops, sorry about the lack of update yesterday. Here's what I did yesterday: Nothing! But it's okay, y'all get two chapters today. Chapter Seven now, and the Epilogue later tonight.**

**Yes, there's one more after this piece of feelsiness. I nearly cried while writing it. Or maybe it was just that I had college ruled paper to write on again, I don't know. Enjoy :D**

The phrase "butterflies in his stomach" was inadequate. It failed to convey the sheerness of Mark's dread, and it included an idea so fair and delicate as a butterfly. "Dragons raging in his stomach" would have been far more appropriate.

He had stalled Grima, but that was all he could do within his ability to hide and still keep his life. Ultimately, he had been unable to thwart her. Unless Lucina's army had some miraculous escape route, every one of them would die that day.

Mark's dread was a bright counterpoint to Grima's excitement.

"Mother, may I ask what you plan of attack is?" He figured the best way to reassure himself was to gather information.

With a toothy grin which Mark could see even under her cowl, she answered, "you and your sister find the princess and keep her from escaping. I, in the meantime, shall do as I am wont."

Mark wasn't sure which he feared more: Grima's calm ire, or her bouncy bloodthirst.

He nodded anyways. "As you will, Mother." Her plan gave him a glimmer of hope, that perhaps he could esca–

"Oh, this body shall accompany you as well. You worried of being overrun by her friends? This should put you at ease."

Funny, it did the exact opposite. _Shit._

"Well, let's go and have ourselves a look," Morgan suggested. The three fellbloods emerged from their hiding place.

It was pandemonium, but with Grima's dragon body flying about and eating people, that was par for the course. Soldiers were scattered about and running for their lives, tents were knocked over and blown flat– oh, and the twins saw that Grima had taken the liberty of bringing a wing down on Naga's temple.

It occurred to Mark that Grima might not be paying attention– she had two bodies to manage. That made him the leader of the party.

"Come on, let's find her."

And just then, a blue light lit up half the camp. Mark knew not what it was, only that he had to get to it.

He beheld a marvelous lambent gate, constructed entirely from magic. He could see naught but darkness on the other side, but he knew right away that this was that miraculous escape route he had been praying for. All he had to do was fool Grima and he was home free.

All he had to do was plant himself between Lucina and the gate, and somehow let her pass. How in the gods' names would be manage _that?!_ Grima still stood at his side. She was distracted, yes, but...

Grima was the first to rush into the fray, hands aglow with magic. The Morgans briefly exchanged grim glances before running in on either side of her. The three of them stood between Lucina's group and the gate.

It was a good thing Grima could not see Mark's face from her point of view; his grief was palpable.

"You..." Lucina muttered, then with more force: "Stand aside!"

Behind her, Grima's dragon body descended, snarling with teeth reflecting the light of tents aflame. Lucina was caught between death and death's children. _Damn, damn, damn, damn!_

"Hmph! Only three block our way," snorted a woman in pink armor. "We can easily push them aside."

"I think introductions are in order," Mark heard the fell woman say. "I believe you have met my children, the Generals Morgan. It has been some time since we last met, Lucina, but how could you forget me, of all people?" She threw off her hood for the first time in the twins' memories, revealing her face. For the first time in his life, Mark looked upon his mother's face. He saw her hair reflecting the light of the gate behind them, and for the color of the light he could not discern the color of her hair. He also saw features which one might say were fair, but for the smug snarl disgracing them.

If _this _was the first time he had ever seen her face, then Mark was right– this could not be his mother.

"I am the wings of despair. I am the breath of ruin. I am the fell dragon, Grima..."

Lucina's reaction lent heart to Mark. She drew her sword– the Falchion, gleaming brightly– and pointed it straight at Grima. "I've escaped you once; I'll do it again. And this time, I'm all the stronger for it, as I carry Naga's blessing."

Grima snarled in anger while Mark sighed in relief. The last worry he'd had, addressed. "Then you shall die, the same as your father!" She formed a makeshift spear with Thoron while Mark prepared his own tome, Arcwind. He signaled to his twin not to attack Lucina's friends. If he aimed right...

And, out of seemingly nowhere, a well-aimed javelin flew at Grima, and it wasn't from Lucina's party. It lodged itself into her lower leg, splattering blood everywhere. Mark looked around for the origin of it briefly, then several things happened at once.

Grima screamed at a shadowy figure in the distance (who Mark could only assume had thrown the javelin), "YOU! YOU'RE DEAD! I KILLED YOU"; Lucina and her friends all rushed forward, weapons ready; and Morgan drew her sword and braced herself.

In reaction to all this, Mark drew on the power within his Arcwind book, and as a wyvern rider approached Grima, Mark fired at such an angle that the wyvern rider appeared his target.

He'd well disguised that his true target was Grima, but not well enough.

"MORGAN!" She screeched.

Keeping himself calm, he murmured, "I was dead to begin with. I may as well go out honorably."

He saw a few of Lucina's friends rush past him, and the same wyvern rider he'd intentionally missed began to charge him, a hammer at the ready.

Time seemed to slow for him. He could dodge. It would be an easy matter to duck to the side. He weighed his life before himself, carefully holding up to view his memories of participating in Grima's slaughter, and all his regrets. In this moment, all became clear. Mark knew he could never be happy with the way he was, aware of the atrocities he'd committed.

He locked eyes with Lucina and mouthed, _Good luck, my sister._

The hammerstroke fell, and though Mark rolled himself away with it, it still hurt, in the brief instance he still was. In that same instant, he saw a field of blue light, then his eyes closed, and all was dark.

Dark, fuzzy, and painful.

"BROTHER!" Morgan screamed, watching him fly through the gate. "BROTHER!"

"One down," the wyvern rider murmured.

She sheathed her sword and whipped out her tome of choice, Arcfire. "YOU KILLED MY BROTHER!" She fired, and missed. The wyvern rider flew through the light unharmed.

"And you will soon follow," snarled Mother. Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods, Mark wasn't kidding when he'd told her that Mother would kill her. Oh dear gods, she was a dead woman. Mother turned to her, Thoron spear raised, and–

For being lamed, that cloaked man could move awfully fast when he wanted to. He had– somehow– closed the distance between himself and Grima in time to block her stroke.

"I KILLED YOU!" Mother screeched.

"This dead man can still defend his children," Morgan heard him grunt, in obvious pain. Wait. He couldn't be... "A mother shouldn't be trying to kill them."

"DAMN YOU! WHY WON'T YOU _DIE?!_"

Morgan became vaguely aware that she wasn't the only one watching this spectacle. Lucina, too, had her attention held captive by this scene.

"F-Father?" Morgan asked gingerly, eyes tearing up.

He looked at her briefly, and Morgan knew– that was indeed Chrom, her father. "I'm sorry for what you and your brother had to go through. And I– Hrk!"

"And that's the end of it," Grima hissed, wiping Chrom's blood off her hands. He crumpled to the ground, a heavy bolt lodged in his chest. "Survive _that._"

Her danger senses going off everywhere, Morgan grabbed Lucina's wrist and tossed her through the gates. She gave her father one last weepy glance, then followed her sister.

Even as all became blue and everything around her changed, her father's last words rang in Morgan's head. Her brother had been right all along. And now he was dead, dead having tried to protect her. Brother and father both... It struck her how like the two had been.

Now, she wished she had been so like her father as well.

Oh, well. She was going somewhere. Some... place Grima could not follow, she imagined.

Perhaps she, too, would take a stand against Grima.

Perhaps, just so she could realize Morgan's dream...


	9. Epilogue

**Author's notes: Wow, I started a fanfic and finished it. Baby steps first, right? ... Right? Anyways, enjoy the finish. Lemme know what y'all think, I'm not entirely sure what I was going for, I just wrote it by feel.**

**Also, a good song to listen to for this would be "Reset" from Okami, the version by Ayaka Hirahara. It came up while I was writing this in school today. Anyways, now that you have your music, read away!**

Morgan was warm. Pleasantly warm, as though he was lying by a fire, except the heat came from above. There was also something cool beneath him, but like the warmth, it was pleasant in its coolness. He opened his eyes, only to shut them again and shield himself with his arm. Gods, but that light was _bright_. He sat up and, blinking, had another look.

Grass. Trees. Sun. It was all so bright, so colorful. Wherever he had been before, it was probably dark and dreary, if it took this long for his eyes to adjust. He took in a deep breath through the nose, smelling something unfamiliar, but sweet. Little pale petals littered the grassy earth, and he could see some still floating on the wind.

It was all so _beautiful_, and Morgan had not considered himself the kind of man to appreciate such beauty. He had never known of any sight so fair in his life. But he wasn't sure. His head hurt, and his mind was very foggy. All that came to mind when he thought was a vague image of his mother. He remembered studying tactics with her, remembered her teaching him to fight– she was a harsh instructor, but Morgan had learned all the more effectively for it– yet when he struggled to recall her face, Morgan was stymied.

He could not remember his mother's face.

He sighed and pulled himself from sitting to standing. _Whoa. Ouch. Dizzy. Headache._ He raised a hand to his head.

"OUCH!"

He removed his hand hastily. Looking at it, he saw flakes of dried blood rubbed off on it... He must have suffered a severe blow to the head. That would explain a lot. He wiped his hand on his coat and had another look around, this time for practical reasons rather than to take in the scenery (so serene! It was like heaven on earth). He imagined he looked like a mess; the image of his head caked with blood almost made him laugh in an eerie, morbid sort of way. That in mind, he set off for a stone ruin he identified in the distance, hoping that there might perhaps be water there with which to wash himself.

And he was right, thank the gods. He carefully removed his cloak– it felt precious to him, as it was the same cloak his mother always wore– before gingerly splashing water onto his head. The cool sensation stung at first, but it felt better as he cleaned his hair. He paused midway through this, seeing something odd in his reflection. _Huh. A mark of some kind, in my right eye. Cool._ He resumed rubbing water onto his scalp.

Footsteps.

Alert suddenly, Morgan threw his cloak back on and prepared a weapon– the first he found on himself was a tome, Arcwind. He saw... figures in the rough shape of people, carrying weapons, and they reeked of rotting flesh. _Ewwwww._

They made him nervous, and while his nerves threatened to take over, Morgan beat them down. _I am stronger than the weakness of my mind._

One attacked. Still quite alert, Morgan dodged and retaliated. His Arcwind was enough to wound, but not kill. He managed another hit, and finished it off this time. It faded into violet mist, and as it did, Morgan could have sworn he'd heard it hiss a few words– "K-kill... future child..."

_What?_ He turned around, looking for the next zombie, as he dubbed them. _More footsteps,_ he motes. _Probably not friendly. Think, Morgan– what would Mother do?_

Lo and behold, the footsteps _were_ friendly– he could make out enough people to form a small army over on the other side of the ruins, and coming towards him was a pair of them, a man and a woman. They did pretty well carving the path, he'd say. Perhaps he should stick to them. In any case, he _wasn't_ going to die, so he turned round to thank his saviors, and his jaw nearly dropped with excitement as he recognized the woman.

"Mother!"

"Muh?" She twisted round. She looked confused, but Morgan was absolutely sure. This was his mother. He was safe– here was a rock for him to cling to.

"There you are. I was wondering where you were! Let's stay close, these things put up quite a fight, but I'm sure you already know that." After all, he had just seen her skills firsthand. He had such a long way to go!

His mother turned to the man behind her, who shrugged at her dumbfounded expression. She turned back to Morgan. "Um, are you all right? There's some blood in your hair."

"Oh! Yeah, not sure how that happened. I was washing it off when these things started coming after me. I think I took a hard hit to the head; it really does hurt when I touch it. We should go find a healer soon." He paused, having noticed something. "Also, if I may say so, I think the air here's doing something really good for you. You look really young!"

This exasperated her, for some reason. "Okay, then. Uh..."

There was an awkward, lengthy pause while she seemed to grope for words.

"I guess you can only improvise for so long," the man beside her commented. "What's your name?"

"It's... Morgan." It was slow to come to him, though he wasn't sure why.

"Well, this is embarrassing." Mother turned away from him.

"I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?" Morgan asked.

"No, no, it's... How do I explain this? Do you know someone named Lucina?"

"Umm..." The name rang no bells. "No, not that I know of."

"Amnesia?" The man asked. "Like mother, like son..."

"Oh, that makes this _much_ easier. Listen carefully, Morgan. You're here from the future. In this time, you haven't been born yet."

He blinked in disbelief. "What? That's nonsense. Time travel is impossible."

"It's possible, and you're living proof. You said I looked young, yes? That's because I _am_ young. Do I look like I'm old enough to have a child of your age?"

"But... that's..." It made no sense, and yet, it made sense. What the hell?!

"If it's any comfort, we can worry about the details later. We have work to do." She raised a sword, and turned back to the fray. The man followed her.

"Wait," Morgan said to him. "Who are you?"

"I'm Chrom... I'm your father."

Morgan frowned. Was his memory full of holes, or had he never met his father before? ... Probably the former.

How could he remember? He had amnesia. He couldn't remember anything but Mother. But then, this was what he had wanted, though he didn't know it. He couldn't know it. Perhaps that was why he was so full of cheer; he had been able to leave behind everything that had happened to him.

After all, he'd been unconscious when Naga had whispered into his ear.

"_Good luck, fellblood son..."_

**Post-fic notes: Finish. Now, just wait until I start crapping out my self-insert fic next. The chapters I've written of it so far are much longer than this, but naturally they take longer to write. And yes... The events in this fic will be canon for the self-insert fic. I hope everyone who read this looks forward to it. And thank you for reading this, by the way! :D**


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